


The Day It All Changed

by JustAnotherBlonde



Series: A Lifetime of Moments [1]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Art School, Alternate Universe - College/University, Art, Art School, Childhood Trauma, Cooking, Developing Relationship, Food, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Japanese, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Parent Death, Puppets, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:16:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25890472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustAnotherBlonde/pseuds/JustAnotherBlonde
Summary: Sasori, senior teaching assistant, and Deidara, a freshman in 3-D design, have been spending more and more time together outside of class since winter exams, so it's only natural that Sasori would invite Deidara over to his apartment after helping Deidara with an "exhibition". But as the evening progresses from artwork to home-cooked dinner to a bottle of saké, what secrets will be revealed?
Relationships: Deidara/Sasori (Naruto)
Series: A Lifetime of Moments [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1878778
Comments: 10
Kudos: 25





	The Day It All Changed

**Author's Note:**

> Deidara's verbal tic is written as "mn" in most places. 
> 
> The setting is a quasi-British university town, maybe 5-10 years into our future, where it's common for there to be a lot of mixed-race/multilingual people, like Sasori who's half Japanese. Despite not being Japanese, Deidara calls Sasori "danna" because it's something that a Japanese-speaking undergrad started years ago, and many of his students will pick up the habit.
> 
> Sometimes Sasori (and later other characters) will speak Japanese. I will provide the hiragana and romanisation of the pronunciation for you, but am open to suggestions for better presentation!

**The Day It All Changed**

“Just a little while longer… mn,” Deidara whispered, peering through the leaves at his masterpiece: a two-meter-high statue of some kind of bird, but certainly not one that roamed this earth. They had placed the statue in the center of the path, five meters in front of the fountain. People—businessmen on their way back to work after lunch, dog-walkers, elderly strollers, toddlers with their guardians—stared at it curiously as they passed through the park.

“How much longer?” Sasori murmured back. “I hate waiting…”

Sasori was stretched out on his back on the grass beside the bush in which Deidara had concealed himself. He rested his red-haired head on his hands and stared up at the clouds drifting through the pale blue sky.

“Get in here!” Deidara hissed. “You have to watch it happen. The beauty is in the explosion, mn.”

Sasori sighed and rolled onto his hands and knees. Checking that no one was watching him, he crept underneath the hedge and joined Deidara in the little hollow they’d discovered there. Deidara didn’t seem to mind that there were leaves stuck in his blond ponytail. The eye that wasn’t concealed by the lock of hair that Deidara always wore flipped forward shone brightly as he stared out at the square. Sasori almost reached over to remove the leaves but lost his nerve at the last moment. Swallowing, he decided to egg Deidara on instead.

“Beauty is eternal, Deidara, I’ve told you this a hundred times. Like that fountain,” Sasori indicated it with his chin. “It’s stood there for three hundred years, and still it’s as beautiful as the day it was carved.”

Deidara shook his head, his ponytail waving back and forth. A leaf dropped out and landed on Sasori’s sleeve. “You really don’t understand, Sasori-danna. Let me show you, mn.”

Grinning wickedly, Deidara raised a modified mobile phone to eye level. In addition to having welded a circuit board and extra wiring to the old brick, Deidara had painted its thick plastic shell white with black accents, and the two largest buttons now read “喝！” (katsu!) and “解” (kai). Sasori had helped him with the translations for “detonate” and “release,” but Deidara himself had spent an inordinate amount of time painstakingly articulating the kanji with a mini paintbrush.

“Wait for it…” he whispered, watching the square carefully. “Wait for it…”

Curious as to what Deidara was waiting for, Sasori peered out, noticing that the number of people in the square had grown since they had set up two or so hours ago. Some seemed to be lingering to look at Deidara’s strange creation.

“You’re going to hurt someone,” Sasori whispered.

“It’s made of plasticine!” Deidara retorted. “It’ll just bounce off. Like getting hit with a ball from a ball pit, mn.”

“Did you test this one? It’s bigger than anything you’ve done before…”

Deidara glared at him. “I’m already banned from using Professor Sage’s studios, mn.”

“Yes, I recall applying for that ban,” Sasori smirked. As a senior teaching assistant in the university art department, he had certain privileges—and responsibilities.

“So get Sage to lift the—”

“You know I can’t lift the ban. If you break any more university property they’ll kick you out of school. It’s better this way.”

“Stop distracting me! It’s almost time, mn.” Deidara turned his attention back to the square, where people were snapping photos of his sculpture. His eyes grew wide.

“Yes! Now!” he exclaimed, remembering at the last minute to whisper, then jabbed the “喝” button. “Katsu!”

The sculpture began to swell, attracting the attention of the passersby. The ones snapping photos continued to do so. Then, with a quiet _POF!_ the statue popped open, cracking along the sides and dropping apart like a split eggshell.

“Oh…” Deidara sighed, looking disappointed. “I must have made the shell too thick…mn.”

“The plasticine is too soft. It’s not going to blow apart unless you use a different material.”

Deidara pouted. “I wish I could just straight up use C4 to make my statues…”

“Illegal, dangerous, stupid. Let’s go get something to eat,” Sasori said, crawling backwards out of the hedge. He rolled to a seated position and scanned the area, making sure no one was watching them. His black sweatpants were covered in dirt, so he stood to dust them off.

“Clear,” he called to Deidara, who crawled out head first.

Sasori offered him a hand and pulled him to standing. Deidara stared, a surprised yet curious expression on his face. This was the first time Sasori had ever voluntarily touched him. _Sasori never touches anyone_ , Deidara thought. It was always verbal warnings and cues: when Deidara fell asleep in class it was _‘Wake up, Deidara;’_ when they met today at the warehouse it was _‘Hey, are you ready to go?’;_ when Deidara passed his art history exam, after weeks of revision under Sasori’s guidance, there was no rejoicing hug or even a handshake, just _‘Well done.’_ In fact, Deidara was so surprised and lost in thought that he didn’t notice that they were still holding hands as Sasori pulled him towards the path that lead out of the park to the street.

“Come on, I’m hungry,” Sasori urged. His heart was beating furiously as he gripped Deidara’s hand. He hadn’t meant to do it: his body had reacted before he could think when he saw Deidara on the ground. Now he was too afraid to let go. _Think! Quick…_

“You have leaves in your hair,” Sasori said, releasing Deidara’s hand to pluck at one.

“Oh! Thanks, mn.” Deidara combed through his ponytail and the rest of his hair until he removed the last of them. He was careful not to flip aside the piece of hair concealing his eye.

They made their way to the diner across the street and found a table near the back, by the window that overlooked the alley. Sasori ordered a sandwich and Deidara an ice cream sundae.

Sasori eyed him warily. “Do you ever eat normal food? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you eat something that wasn’t dessert.”

Deidara eyed him back. “Don’t judge my choices, mn.”

This elicited a shrug from Sasori. He closed his eyes and sighed: “Not judging, just… making note.”

While they waited for their orders, Deidara leapt headlong into discussing the successes and failures of today’s “exhibition”—as he was calling it. He scrolled through his social media feeds to see if it was trending anywhere, exclaiming in joy when he discovered a photo or video. Sasori listened, commenting when he deemed necessary. 

When their food arrived, Sasori was taken by surprise—normally waiting to be served at a restaurant drove him mad, but this time he’d barely noticed. Deidara did not end their discussion to eat; instead, he watched his ice-cream melt and nodded along to Sasori’s suggestions.

“Yes! Using a wood or metal frame beneath the clay, that’s brilliant. I’ll try that next time, if I can find a space to put it all… My dorm-mate is losing his mind… mn.”

The corner of Sasori’s mouth lifted in a tiny smile. He pushed a pickle around his plate with a fork, then looked up at Deidara.

“I want to show you something,” he said quietly, peering through his long, soft lashes.

Deidara looked at him curiously.

“I want to show you my art. My puppets. They’re in my workshop.”

“In your… home?” Deidara asked, eye wide. He could scarcely believe his ears. “You’re inviting me to your home?”

“Don’t get worked up about it,” Sasori shot back. His cheeks had flushed a gentle pink but he was trying to maintain his usual aloof expression. “Come on.”

*

Unsurprisingly, Sasori lived alone. It was a spacious studio apartment not far from the main gates of the university, down a quiet backstreet lined with trees. The building was older: only four stories, no elevator. Sasori’s apartment took up the whole top floor.

The first thing Deidara felt when he stepped through the door was a bolt of shock: at first glance, it seemed that a dozen people had hanged themselves from the rafters. But as the afternoon sun streaming through the skylight struck the puppets with its warm light, this momentary terror passed. The workshop took up most of the space: there was a wide wooden table in the center of the room covered in puppet parts. If Deidara peered through the hanging limbs, he could spy a bed on the far side, nothing more than a mattress on the floor. In the right hand corner on the other side of the room was a kitchen separated from the main space by high countertops. The bathroom was a closet-like room near the door. Sasori made him remove his boots and offered a pair of slippers.

“Wow…” Deidara sighed as he gazed up at the puppets. They truly were exquisite works of art. Each was unique, but equally well-crafted. Every last joint was accounted for, from fingertips to toes. Some even had articulated spines. Some were carved with bulging muscles, others looked soft and sensuous. Their glass eyes were disconcertingly alive—it had to do with how Sasori had carved the wrinkles on each face.

Deidara reached up and brushed the fingertips of the female puppet hanging nearest the door. He turned to Sasori.

“How do you make them?”

Sasori walked to his worktable, beckoning Deidara to follow. Laid out across its surface were, for lack of a better description, what looked like piles of bones. Carved wooden femurs, ulna, metatarsals, collarbones… Most were life-size, but there was one tiny puppet, nearly completed, sitting off to one side of the table. Deidara would have examined it more closely, but Sasori had picked up his tools and begun to explain.

*

It was only when Sasori moved to turn on the desk lamp that Deidara realized the sun had set.

“Shit! It’s late!” He checked his phone. “I missed dinner at the canteen… mn.”

Without looking up from the joint he was affixing, Sasori said, “I’ll cook something, don’t worry.”

Deidara’s insides went all wobbly in the best kind of way. _He freaked out when I flirted with him last semester. Said it was inappropriate. Even though he can’t be more than a couple years older than me. Now he’s having me over to his place and making me dinner…? I guess we have been spending more time together since winter break, but… Is this… Is this still just friends or…?_ He looked at Sasori, completely immersed in his work, the work lamp striking his cheekbone at just the right angle, and almost sighed out loud. _I wish… more, mn_ _._

Sasori set down his tools and rubbed his eyes. Without a word he walked over to the kitchen area, flipped on a light, and began taking out ingredients and pans, pouring rice into a small rice cooker, chopping vegetables. Deidara sat on one of the stools on the other side of the tall countertop and watched, fascinated. It didn’t even occur to him that there was no television to watch while he waited.

“What is that? What are you making, mn?”” Deidara could no longer contain himself. He could never sit quietly; while Sasori worked that afternoon he had chattered away whenever the silenced stretched on for too long.

Sasori offered a few one word answers, but this was a door opened: Deidara talked freely about the last time he’d tried Japanese food, asked Sasori if he was Japanese, received an affirmative answer—on his mother’s side—and continued to talk and talk until the food was ready.

The countertop was laid out with numerous tiny dishes, two of most everything and a couple of platters to share. Deidara was picking up his chopsticks and about to dig in when he heard the clink of tiny ceramic cups. Sasori turned around, a saké set pinched in one hand and a bottle of saké in the other.

“Wow, fancy! Mn,” Deidara exclaimed. But Sasori shook his head.

“I always have saké with dinner, even when I’m by myself… Especially when I’m by myself,” he muttered.

He tipped a copious amount of saké into the serving bottle. The serving bottle went into a ceramic pot which he filled with boiling water—“To heat the saké,” he explained—then he took his chopsticks up in both hands and bowed over his bowl:

「いただきます.」 (Itadakimasu)

Deidara’s gaze roamed over the spread, not sure where to start first. A cerulean-and-purple glazed serving dish caught his eye, piled high with fat lumps of tofu, a caramel-colored sauce and something flaky and crunchy.

“It almost looks too good to eat, mn,” he said, stealing a look at Sasori.

“Eat while it’s still hot,” Sasori replied, sipping a bowl of broth.

“Do you eat like this every day?” Deidara was struggling with his chopsticks a little.

Sasori nodded, and poured them each a cup of saké. “I don’t usually like to eat out. I hate waiting for my food to be brought to me.”

“Who taught you to cook?”

“My grandmother,” Sasori said curtly. He lifted his saké cup in a toast. “To your successful exhibition.”

Deidara smiled and raised his cup. “It was hardly a success… mn.”

“You’ll get better results next time, I’m sure,” Sasori murmured, refilling both of their cups. He knocked this second one back without ceremony. Noting Deidara’s questioning stare, he shrugged. “It’s better when it’s hot.” Deidara decided to follow suit.

They ate in silence; all the while Sasori kept refilling their saké cups, refilling the serving bottle when necessary.

*

“Well, if you’re aiming to get me drunk, at least my next class isn’t until ten o’clock tomorrow, mn,” Deidara said with a grin, setting the little cup down.

“I have a tutorial at eleven…”

“So you don’t have any plans for this evening?” Deidara’s heart was beating a little faster than normal, mind wild with possibilities.

“I was just going to work on my puppets.”

Sasori tipped the last of the saké from the serving bottle into his own cup and downed it. His cheeks were flushed from the alcohol, his gaze dulled. But when Deidara looked closer, he saw a haunted look in Sasori’s eyes.

Most of the food had disappeared. Sasori stood suddenly, moving to top up the hot water and saké, emptying the glass bottle into the smaller serving one. He carried the serving set and his cup over to his work table, leaving Deidara at the counter. He picked up a small piece of wood and began to carve.

“Wh-wh…? Hang on. Do you want me to go?” Deidara stumbled a little trying to stand, bumping into the stool.

“You can stay,” Sasori said calmly, eyes on his work table. There was a pause. Sasori looked up at Deidara, still hesitating by the kitchen. “Please stay,” he repeated, voice softer, gentler.

The saké had definitely gone to Deidara’s head. He floated over to Sasori’s work table, his gaze drifting upward to the puppets dangling above. As he stared, he realized that each puppet possessed a distinct character, representing various emotional states. The female puppet nearest the door with her soft curves embodied a tender yet incredibly heavy sadness. Every limb and piece of her curved like a teardrop, giving the impression that she was melting into the earth: her sadness multiplying the effect of gravity to pull her down. Tears pricked at Deidara’s eyes just to look at her.

Closer to the kitchen was a muscular male puppet, bristling with violent energy. His face was the embodiment of rage, pure and primal. His fingertips ended in ten-centimeter long claws and horns extended from his hairline. To this puppet’s right was a thin male puppet with twisting, writhing limbs. It made Deidara uncomfortable, imagining his own joints twisted up in such contortions and feeling its pain. The rest of the crowd seemed to be made up of different iterations on ‘sadness,’ ‘pain’ and ‘rage’, male and female or something in between. But there two—older, roughly hewn—hidden among the others that radiated a kind of gentleness. It was too dark to make out many details but one seemed to be female and one seemed to be male.

Finally, Deidara’s gaze landed on Sasori and the tiny puppet he was working on. Sasori was carving its face now, and in the curves and hollows, Deidara recognized…

“Is that… Is that supposed to be you?”

Sasori set the little head down. His hands were trembling.

“I wish…” he said in a wavering voice, not lifting his gaze. “I wish I could be one of them. A puppet.”

“Why?” Deidara whispered. He lowered himself onto the stool he had occupied all afternoon near the work table, pulling it closer to Sasori, who knocked back another cup of saké.

It took Sasori some time to gather his words. He poured them both another cup of saké, downed his and poured another. Deidara’s hand flashed out, but he didn’t need to touch Sasori to halt his motion.

“I think you’ve had enough, mn,” he murmured, gazing intently into Sasori’s light brown eyes. Sasori looked away.

“I wish I couldn’t feel anything,” Sasori whispered. “I wish my body was dead, carved wood. I wish my heart and my brain were cold and motionless, and that all I needed to do to live was let someone else tug at my strings.”

“Sasori-danna,” Deidara whispered. He tentatively placed his hand on top of Sasori’s. Sasori did not pull away, but closed his eyes, as if Deidara’s very touch caused him physical pain.

“Sasori-danna,” Deidara repeated. “You don’t really want that. Why would you want that?” His voice cracked a little. Would he be the first to cry?

Shaking his head, Sasori took his hand back and withdrew, wrapping his arms around himself. “You wouldn’t understand. I can’t tell you…”

“Try me, Sasori-danna, mn.” Deidara’s gaze was resolute.

Sasori drew a shaky breath, then—unexpectedly—smiled. He shook his head. “I can’t understand it…” he said, almost to himself. “I… I don’t like talking about this… I never… but… you… It’s just so hard…”

Deidara put out his hand. He did not touch Sasori—he knew better now—but he offered his hand. And Sasori took it. And holding Deidara’s hand, Sasori began to speak:

“My parents… died. When I was very young… My grandmother… tried to keep it from me. At first. They were on a trip when…

“She thought she could protect me. When I asked where they were she’d just say they were still traveling. When I found out they were never coming home… I… shut down. Stopped eating, stayed in my room. I was six.

“My grandmother… she made puppets. She had spent a lifetime mastering the art. Nothing she did to draw me out of myself worked, until the day she brought me into her workshop.

“I threw myself into it. My hands were bloody with splinters and cuts, but I hardly let _Ob_ _ā_ _san_ touch me. I… I didn’t do well in school. I just… I only felt safe and normal when I was with my puppets…”

Sasori stared at the table as memories replayed behind his eyes. Deidara squeezed his hand, pulling him out of it.

“In high school, everything went wrong. She ended up sending me to a mental hospital. But… I… I… got… better. I got better. And came to university.”

“Freshman year… Freshman… year…” He inhaled sharply. “That was when I… I met… I met… _him_ …”

He bit his lip and sought Deidara’s gaze.

“I really don’t want to talk about this,” he said in a low voice. He exhaled one nervous laugh.

“Go on,” Deidara said. He hadn’t let go of Sasori’s hand. “I’m listening, mn.”

Sasori pulled his hand away and buried his face in his palms. Deidara poured them each one more cup of saké, although it had gone cold. He passed the cup to Sasori:

“Here, mn.”

Sasori looked up, took the cup and swallowed its contents. 「ありがと,」(Arigato) he said, then remembering who he was with: “Thanks.”

Setting the cup down, he continued: “He was… much older than me. We were together—on and off—for years. He wasn’t kind to me. He… used me. I thought I needed him. I thought…” Tears spilled over, tracking down Sasori’s cheeks and meeting under his chin. He gave Deidara a pleading look. “Just thinking about what he used to do to me makes me sick. I can’t be with anyone now. I can’t be touched. It only brings back memories of pain. I’m sorry.”

Deidara did not expect the emotion which rose up in him just then to be anger. Not at Sasori, but at the man who had done this to him, at life which had tortured him so. Anger at himself for thinking Sasori was one more easy pull back when they first met.

“What do you have to apologize for? Hm?” he said hotly. “Why should you be sorry for all the shit that’s happened to you? You can’t keep it locked up inside forever. You can’t live like this! Not…” He was losing his train of thought. “Not while…” Sasori was looking at him, eyes sad but also hopeful.

Sasori turned on his stool and took both Deidara’s hands in his own.

“Not while you’re here?” Sasori finished. His small smile beamed like a sliver of sun through rainfall.

“Mm!” Deidara affirmed. He gripped Sasori’s hands more firmly.

“I like that,” Sasori murmured. “I like the sound of that.”

They sat there for a moment, exchanging shy glances, still holding hands. Deidara began tracing the calluses on Sasori’s palms, but stopped when Sasori shuddered and pulled away. _Still too much_ , Deidara reminded himself. _A little at a time._

“Sasori-danna,” Deidara said, a serious look upon his face. “Sasori-danna. Can I kiss you?”

Sasori’s eyes grew wide.

“You can say no, mn.” Deidara lowered his gaze.

Wordlessly, Sasori lifted his hand and brushed aside Deidara’s signature lock of hair. The eye beneath it was disfigured, blind. A horrible burn scar, old and shiny, glistened under the work lamp’s harsh light.

Tears sprung to Deidara’s eyes at this sudden revelation of his insecurity.

“That’s not fair, mn,” he said in a small voice.

“How did it happen?” Sasori whispered, gently touching the taut, shiny flesh. He wiped away Deidara’s tears, his calluses scratching roughly against Deidara’s cheek.

“It was my own fault,” Deidara replied bitterly. “‘Play with fire, you’ll get burned’ my mother always said. ‘One day, Deidara, just you wait’… She was right. But she doesn’t know…mn.”

Deidara sat back and began rolling the sleeves of his jacket. More angry, red welts appeared, some old, some only just healing.

“Losing my eye didn’t stop me,” he said, staring defiantly at Sasori. “I’m not afraid of pain, mn.”

Sasori met his gaze, searched that bright blue eye, and his breath caught in his throat.

“Yes,” Sasori murmured. It took a moment for Deidara to realize what he was talking about. “Yes, Deidara-san. You can kiss me.”


End file.
